


Second Son

by lusilly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family (Harry Potter), Brother Feels, Brothers, Death Eaters, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inter-House Friendships, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8840623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lusilly/pseuds/lusilly
Summary: AU where Sirius takes Regulus with him that fateful night he runs away from Grimmauld Place, resulting in a friendship that transcends family enmity. When Regulus is offered entrance into the Dark Lord's inner circle, he goes straight to his brother. He turns spy for the Order.Yet in the end, nothing really changes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of the idea that Some Things in the timeline are set in stone so lol Sorry this ends exactly where you think it does
> 
> Oh also I changed James's parents names because fucking Fleamont lmao ok sure jkr

           It was past midnight, although not yet into the wee hours of the morn. Sirius dragged his trunk off the bus behind him, prodding his brother, still glassy-eyed and dazed, forward with the tip of his wand. The conductor, couldn’t have been a year or so older than he was, eyed the two suspiciously, and Sirius saw him murmur something to the driver, frowning at the way the other boy seemed to be completely vacant. Sirius faked a smile at them, his lip stinging as he did so, and then said, “Thanks, ‘bye, then,” loudly, and stared until the conductor and driver exchanged uncomfortable looks, and the great purple bus disappeared.

           He turned to the big house, bathed in moonlight. He thought of the narrow, ancient home he lived in – he _used_ to live in – and then looked at this great building again and wondered what they did with all that extra room. It was just the three of them, wasn’t it?

           He let out a little sigh and turned around, blinking into the darkness. “Regulus!” he hissed; his brother had wandered slightly away. “Regulus! Get back here. Come on.” The boy gaped around, and then dutifully followed Sirius’s instruction. Sirius held his wand up, his hand hovering right behind Regulus’s back; the charm was going to wear off any minute now and he didn’t want to be unprepared when it did. He set his trunk down and rang the doorbell of the house. There was silence. Nervously, he whispered, “C’mon, James, c’mon…” and rang again, and then, suddenly, the door opened and Sirius could have cried out in relief.

           “Mrs. Potter,” he said, heaving a great sigh. “Thank you. Hello. Thank you.”

           “Sirius!” she said, alarmed. “What – I’m sorry-?” Regulus reached out and pawed at the windowpane beside the door; Sirius’s arm shot out and pulled him away, glaring at his brother. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hushed. “Are you all right? Goodness, Sirius, are you bleeding? Come in, right away – and, who is, who’s this?”

           “This is my brother,” said Sirius tiredly, “Regulus. I’m sorry, Mrs. Potter, I realize it’s late, I just…” he trailed off, looking up at her with big eyes. He saw something in her expression melt slightly, and he looked away, silently rejoicing, bending his knees as if to pick up his trunk again before she said, “No, no, dear, I’ve got it, please, come in.”

           She levitated his trunk into the house and closed the door behind her. “Oh, dear,” she said, ushering Sirius and Regulus into the kitchen, turning on the lights, setting them down at her kitchen table. “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.” She swept her wand across the kitchen and two glasses flew out of the cupboards, landed on the table. “George!” she called up the stairs, then returned to the kitchen and waved her wand again; a carton of milk floated out and poured itself into the two glasses. “Gracious, Sirius, you poor boy. Drink up, you both certainly look like you need it.”

           She paused before the younger boy, who didn’t look like he’d heard her. Anxiously, Sirius leaned in. “Erm, Regulus,” he said, loudly. “Would you like some milk, then?”

           Regulus stared at him blankly.

           “He’s had a very rough night,” said Sirius to Mrs. Potter, his voice slightly hushed. “I think perhaps he really needs to go to bed. It’d help him, you know, process all of…this…”

           Mrs. Potter hesitated, looking at the two of them worriedly. “Tell me this, Sirius,” she said, and she had lowered her voice as well. She reached out and took hold of his face, gently brushing her fingers across the yellowing bruise around his eye. “Did your parents do this to you?”

           Sirius turned away from her touch. “Yeah,” he said, gruffly. “But I’m okay. Regulus, on the other hand…”

           Mrs. Potter turned to the other brother. “Has he been hexed?” she asked, more concerned than ever. “You poor boys. Oh, my goodness. You _poor boys_.”

           Someone else came trudging down the stairs. “Victoria? What’s-”

           Mr. Potter fell silent as he saw the two boys in the kitchen, and Sirius’s trunk in the front hall. His face suddenly turned dark. “What happened?” he asked, addressing the room at large; Sirius thought it best if he let Mrs. Potter reply.

           “You do remember what James said, darling, don’t you?” said Mrs. Potter, her voice slightly too shrill. “About Sirius? And his family?”

           Mr. Potter nodded, scrutinizing the two boys. “All right, Sirius?” he asked.

           Sirius nodded, gave a pitiful shrug. “I’ve,” he gave a sad little laugh, “I’ve been better.”

           The laugh could’ve turned into a real one, at the look on Mr. Potter’s face. Oh, yes, certainly, it was very touching, but Sirius was very put off by the way his brother was staring at him, drool beginning to dribble down his chin.

           “If it’s all right with you, Sirius,” said Mrs. Potter, her voice gone hushed again, “I’ll just put your brother to bed upstairs. We have a guest bedroom all ready, it just looks like he’s been Confunded, and a nasty one by the look of it, but I’ll just give him a nice Sleeping Draught and he’ll be better when he wakes up. Is that all right?”

           “Yes,” said Sirius, and he bit his tongue, glancing up at the Potters, not wanting to seem too eager. “I mean, yes. He’ll be – he’ll be safe?”

           “Of course,” said Mr. Potter, clearing his throat slightly. “Of course. In our home? Both of you are safe. We promise you.”

           Mrs. Potter was tipping a potion into Regulus’s mouth. “There, there’s a dear. Come on, Regulus, let’s just take you upstairs, then-”

           At that moment, another figure came down the stairs, joining them. “Mum?” said a sleepy sixteen-year-old, with dark, messy hair. “Is there something-”

           He broke off, squinting at his mother, supporting Regulus on their way out of the kitchen. “Sirius?” he said suddenly, and his voice sounded so stricken that a jolt of unexpected guilt shot into Sirius’s stomach. “Merlin, you look like-” he looked up at his mother, his face pale, “Is he all right?”

           “Yeah,” called Sirius, still sitting, behind his brother. “I’m fine.”

           James peered past Sirius, still squinting. He looked at Sirius, then back at Regulus, then away to Sirius again. “I – what?”

           “You need your glasses, mate,” called Sirius, then he thought that might sound just a bit too amused and so, as he swept his hair out of his eyes, he winced a little, emphasizing the bruise on his face.

           “Did you – did you bring your _brother_ with you?”

           “Yes,” said Sirius, and this time he didn’t care to correct the defiance in his voice. “Yeah, I did. Did you expect me to leave him?”

           “I just – no, blimey, I don’t know, I suppose I just didn’t expect to get the _kid_ too, is all.”

           “I think I’ll just take Regulus upstairs, then,” said Mrs. Potter quietly, leading the boy out of the room. James glanced at his father then strode over to Sirius, nearly knocking over a chair in the process.

           He lowered his face to Sirius’s and muttered, “What did you do?”

           “I wasn’t going to _leave him_ -”

           “Did you _take him_?”

           “I did the right thing, James!”

           James groaned. “You’ve set the whole noble House of Black and all that rubbish on us, that’s what you’ve done. You’ve kidnapped your foul little brother and expect me to allow him to live in this house and-”

           James’s father placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sirius,” he said, “you may stay here as long as you like. Both you and your brother are welcome in this house, and d’you know what? I would _welcome_ a protest from your family, believe me, I have quite a number of friends in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement I am _quite sure_ that one would merely need to take a look at you boys to see how unsuitable your home life must be.” He paused, then said, “Now! Where is that… ah, yes! Here, Sirius, dab a bit of this on… there you go… better in no time.”

           James stood aside and watched, glumly, as his father tended to Sirius’s injuries. Sirius, to James, looked like he was enjoying the attention a bit too much, and he would’ve rolled his eyes and said something, but he stopped himself because Sirius couldn’t fake a bruise that bad, and that lip wasn’t swollen with a Stinging Hex, it looked as though it’d been split…

           He wanted to be frustrated at Sirius for ruining their perfectly good plan at spending the summers together by bringing along his stupid younger brother, but for the first time it occurred to James that perhaps Sirius wasn’t simply taking advantage of the opportunity to spend weeks plotting with his best friend, but instead actually leaving his house because he had to. It wasn’t as if Sirius had ever been particularly chatty about his home life – usually he scowled a bit and threw something emphatically, mentioning his parents’ insanity or his brother’s idiocy. James watched his father insist on checking Sirius’s lip, healing something up with his wand, and then congratulate him on courage and bravery it must have taken to go off on his own like that. “A true Gryffindor,” he huffed, and James could tell his father was getting a bit soft and so he gently pushed him away, drawing up a seat beside Sirius.

           “Listen,” he said, his voice slightly lower now; his father surreptitiously left the room for a moment. “ _Are_ you all right? A bit bruised up, yeah, but nothing worse, right? And – your brother. He’s all right?”

           Sirius nodded, some of his normal haughty nature returning. “He’s fine,” he replied, his voice even quieter than James’s. “To be honest…it was me who Confunded him. Couldn’t get him out of the house otherwise.”

           James stared at him. “ _Sirius_ -”

           “I wasn’t about to leave him! You should’ve seen my mum, she was screaming fit to burst, almost cursed me into dust right there.”

           James didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, grimly nodding to the bruise on Sirius’s face, he asked, “She give you that?”

           Sirius looked at him for a second, then broke his gaze, shaking his head, pushing his hair back again. It was a self-conscious gesture and it was glaringly obvious to James, even without his glasses, but it didn’t seem calculated. “No,” he said. “This was dear old dad. He’s not as smart as her, I think, doesn’t know how to use a wand properly.” He looked up and met James’s eye again, grinning. “Reckon if he did, I wouldn’t have gotten out at all.”

           The thought made James’s stomach turn, but it shone in Sirius’s eyes. “Do you mean that?” asked James, and it was a bit too much like a demand. “Do you really think it was that bad?”

           Sirius looked at him as if he didn’t comprehend something James was saying. “I dunno,” he said. “I did kidnap my brother, if that gives you a bit of perspective.”

           Mrs. Potter returned at that moment, slipping into the room. “Sirius, I’m sure I have something for that bruise – oh, good, George did that. Drink your milk, dear, you’ll feel better.”

           Sirius looked up from her son and took the milk in one hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” he said, that big-eyed, pitiful sound returning to his voice, and he sipped the milk mournfully. James watched him, and then couldn’t hold back a grin.

           “Sirius, dear,” said Mrs. Potter, hovering about the kitchen. “Is there anything you need? Are you hungry? There’s some leftover dinner, if you’d like it.”

           “Oh, no thank you, Mrs. Potter.”

           “Do you need to contact anyone? We’ll send a message for you.”

           “No, no, it should be fine. My parents might be looking for Regulus soon, but…” he paused, then continued, “If it’s all right, I think I’d just like to get a bit of sleep now, then…”

           “Yes,” said Mrs. Potter. “Of course. Right. You’ll share a room with your brother for tonight, James, would you show him up to the guest bedroom?”

           “’Course,” he replied. “Thanks, Mum. Dad. Goodnight.”

           She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Goodnight, boys.” She moved to leave, then stopped and turned around. “Sirius,” she said, and her voice was full of emotion, “I do want you to feel welcome here. And I would like you to know, we want you here for as long as you need. I don’t want you returning to a house like that, not at all. I am very glad you left, and honored that it was our home you chose to come to.”

           Sirius was left sitting there blinking at her. “Oh,” he said. “Right. Yes.” He cleared his throat slightly. “Thank you, Mrs. Potter. That means, er…means the world to me.”

           She nodded, her eyes wet with tears beading at the corner of her eyes. Her husband said goodnight as well and gently led her out of the room, up the stairs back to their bedroom.

           Sirius turned to James. “So,” he said matter-of-factly. “That went exceptionally well.”

           Despite himself, James couldn’t hold back a grin. “I can’t believe you,” he said, shaking his head. “We planned this whole thing out and you _still_ managed to take me by surprise.”

           “Bit of a surprise for me as well,” replied Sirius. “I wasn’t planning to take off until next week, you know. Trunk’s not even fully packed, not to mention I didn’t even try to pick up any of my brother’s things. He’ll not like that, when he wakes up.”

           “Speaking of that,” said James, “what the _hell_ are you going to do when he wakes up?”

           Sirius considered that for a moment, sweeping his hair back out of his face again. “I dunno,” he said, shrugging. “Hex him again, probably.”

           “D’you think he’ll stay?”

           He let out a little breath, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe,” he said. “It’s not as if-” he broke off, hesitated, and when he spoke again, there was a trace of haughty anger in his voice. “He knows what it’s like. He was there.”

           “Didn’t look like he had any bruises on him, though.”

           “He’s good at staying out of the way.”

           James glanced out of the kitchen, at the stairwell, then leaned in, his voice slightly lower. “Sirius,” he said, “he’s – well – he’s a Slytherin.”

           “So was I, almost,” replied Sirius indignantly. “It doesn’t matter, I mean, not for him.” He paused; James gave him a doubtful look. “Don’t you _get it?_ ” he insisted, irritated now. “This is my little brother we’re talking about. Was I really supposed to leave him with _them_? Look, Regulus and me – we don’t get along, I hardly even like him at all sometimes, but I knew exactly where he was going if he stayed in that house and if there was _anything_ I could do to stop You-Know-Who gaining another follower – really, James, I thought you’d be pleased-”

           James could tell that Sirius made up that reasoning on the spot and hadn’t actually expected him to be pleased at all, but he didn’t say anything, only continued to eye Sirius suspiciously.

           “If you say so.” There was a quiet, then James stood up and said, “I’ll send an owl to Remus and Peter, yeah? Bet Moony could use some company. Did you see-?”

            “Waning,” replied Sirius. “Think it was last week.”

           “Just missed it, then. Next month.”

           James got up and opened a drawer, rifled through the contents as if searching for parchment and a quill. Sirius hesitated for a moment, then said, “You could hold off on that for a bit, mate.”

           “What?” said James, glancing up. Whatever Sirius was thinking was clearly making him vaguely uncomfortable. James stopped moving and looked up at his friend. “Why?”

           “Not just yet. I mean, let me talk to Regulus first.”

           James stared at him blankly. “Why?”

           Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “You know,” he said. “He’s got some…ideas. The wrong idea, that is, about Moony’s furry little problem.” He paused. “It’s just our stupid parents’ influence on him, but still.”

           James didn’t move. “Right,” he began, “then it’s a good thing that our _furry little problem_ is the best kept secret at Hogwarts, isn’t it? There shouldn’t be an issue.”

           With a dismissive little snort, Sirius replied simply, “ _Please_.”

           “Pardon?” said James, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. “Are you implying – did you tell him?”

           “No,” said Sirius, sounding offended. He met James’s gaze for a moment, then admitted, “Well…a bit.”

           James groaned, “ _Sirius_.”

           “He would’ve found out anyway,” he argued, turning slightly red. “Snape knows, you know he’s just biding his time to out him to the whole damn House-”

           “In any case,” said James hardily, ignoring Sirius’s comments, “I’m not telling Moony to stay away just because some prissy git might throw a temper tantrum.”

           Neither of them said anything. Then, arrogantly – James didn’t know how he did it, retained that stubbornness and superiority even when yielding – he said, “Fine.”

           There was an odd tension in the silence that neither of them was quite used to. After a second, James broke it, muttering, “I’ll send an owl in the morning, it’s too late now. C’mon, your room’s up here.” They headed up the stairs and James led Sirius to a room at the end of the hall, beside his own room. He paused and said, “G’night, then.”

           Sirius nodded, opening the door and peeking solemnly at his snoring brother. “’Night,” he said, and James hesitated, then turned back to his own room.

           “James.”

           He turned around. Sirius still stood in the doorway, looking back at him in the dim moonlight filtering in through the wide windows.

           “Thanks,” he said, and then he disappeared into the room and the door shut with a quiet _click_ behind him.

—

           When Regulus Black awoke, it was to a dull throbbing in his head, warm sunlight spilling over his body, and a heavy, unpleasant weight on his abdomen.

           He opened his eyes blearily and tried to blink the nighttime’s crust away, moaning in pain and with a shortness of breath. He lifted his arms weakly, eyesight still unclear, knocking at the great weight that seemed to be restricting his lung capacity. He heard a familiar little sigh and a jolt went through his heart and he was suddenly wide awake.

           His brother grinned down at him and said, “’Morning, Reg'lus.”

           The events of the night before came flooding back into Regulus’s memory, but only to a certain extent, when everything became unfocused and uncertain. For a moment he struggled to understand how things had ended, and then his eyes grew wide and he cried, loudly, accusatorily, “You _Confunded_ me?”

           “What?” asked Sirius innocently. “I surely know not of what you speak, dear brother. Confunded? Who was Confunded?”

           Without hearing a word Sirius said, Regulus continued, shocked, “Are you _sitting on me?_ ”

           “Yes,” replied Sirius mildly, inspecting his nails. “I thought this would be the best way to keep you calm.”

           “Calm?” echoed Regulus, the blood rushing madly to his face. “ _Calm?_ ”

           “And immobile, that is.” He sounded far too pleased with himself. “See, look at me, clever big brother, I hid your wand and everything.”

           “ _Sirius_ ,” said Regulus slowly, staring murderously at his brother. “I am going – to _kill you-_ ”

           “Tsk, tsk. Mustn’t go getting yourself all riled up, wouldn’t want someone to get hurt now, would we?”

           The younger boy’s hands flew to his brother’s throat, squeezing with every ounce of strength he had; Sirius merely laughed and jammed his elbow sideways into Regulus’s right arm, then his arms shot out and he pressed Regulus’s arms to the bed he was lying on. Regulus struggled against his brother’s grip, but Sirius had always been broader and stronger than him, and he didn’t seem to be bothered by it.

           “I hate you,” said Regulus, his throat and eyes and very _flesh_ burning, “I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ -”

           “Oh Regulus, I’m touched,” said Sirius sincerely. “And I didn’t think you cared.”

           “You – _you_ -”

           “Now,” interrupted Sirius, his voice low and quieter and more dangerous, “here is what is going to happen. You are going to tell me that our family is lowly, pathetic, and unworthy of our names.”

           Regulus spit in his face.

           “Okay,” said Sirius, “I s’pose that was a wee bit ambitious."

           “Let – me _– go_ -”

           “Not until you promise me you won’t go back.”

           He stopped squirming, his dark eyes meeting his brother’s.

           The air between them was thick and tight as Sirius took a breath and continued, “I know you get along with them. Or you don’t actively offend them, whatever it is, you have it and I don’t.”

           Sirius took his hands off his brother, held them up in the air as if in surrender. Carefully – gently – he got to his feet. Regulus hardly moved from the floor.

           “Alright,” said Sirius. “You don’t have to stay with me. I couldn’t really make you. Not forever, anyway.” He paused, eyeing his brother. “But you know they’re wrong. You’ve known for some time now, I expect.”

           Dawn broke outside the window, filtering syrupy sunlight into the guestroom. Warily, Regulus too stood. “Where are we?” he asked.

           “James’s place,” answered Sirius.

           “Did you Apparate us here?”

           Sirius shook his head. “Took the Knight Bus. You don’t run away from home nearly enough, you’ll have no idea what that is.”

           The younger brother gently massaged his temple, opening and closing his jaw tenderly. Genuine confusion in his voice, he asked tentatively, “Did Dad…hit me?”

           “No,” answered Sirius. With what might have been guilt in his voice, he added, “Memories can get jumbled about with Confundus. Never been good with that charm, emotions always get a bit in the way. Sorry.”

           Regulus’s gaze did not soften, his dark eyes reflecting his brother’s, but with more hurt and, uncharacteristically, less confidence. “Dad hit you?”

           Sirius nodded.

           “And Mum?” asked Regulus, prodding not with gentleness but something more resembling caution. “Did she… It’s ridiculous, I’m sure, but for some reason I seem to recall…”

           “She did,” said Sirius quietly.

           The younger brother looked up at Sirius with wide, disbelieving eyes.

           “But…that’s an Unforgivable Curse…she wouldn’t…”

           Sirius shrugged. “Isn’t so unreasonable. If I had a son I hated I might try to control him too. Shame for the family’s sake she’s not very good at complex spellwork.”

           “That isn’t just spellwork,” spat Regulus. “The Imperius Curse demands…conviction. Strength of will.”

           “Your Death Eater mates tell you all about that?”

           Regulus scowled at his brother, but once more Sirius just shrugged, glib attitude betraying his ill-concealed pain.

           “Just be glad it wasn’t worse,” Sirius sighed. “Although can’t say I’m not curious how long I’d’ve lasted under Cruciatus. Next time, eh?”

           Outside the guestroom, the sounds of morning arriving in the Potter household began to stir; mother and father waking from their beds, trudging down the stairs to prepare breakfast for their extra charges, James in his room snoring away, owl just returned from a night of hunting.

           Regulus said: “There won’t be a next time,” and it might have been a question, but it was not.

           Gravely, Sirius only gave a slight cock of the head. “Not for me, no.”

           “And what will you do?”

           “Stay here I expect. You honestly want to go back?”

           “I’m the good son,” said Regulus simply. “I don’t have a choice.”

           For some time, Sirius only scrutinized his brother, searching for some indication of untruth in his expression. When he could find none, he looked away, and shook his head.

           “I may be the one who hates them,” he said, “but, damn, have they done a number on you.”

           “I’m not _like_ you, Sirius-”

           “No,” answered Sirius. “You’re not.”

           He watched his brother in silence for a moment.

           Then he began, “I’d tell you to go by Floo but I’m not sure James’s parents would let you out of their sight after this. I brought my Nimbus, s’pose you can use it if you promise to give it back come September.”

           “Your Nimbus?” repeated Regulus, in what may have been disbelief. “You’d give me your Nimbus?”

           “ _Loan_ ,” said Sirius firmly. “And what do you care anyway, you’ve got the new Silver Arrow.”

           Somehow, Regulus found himself speechless. He and his brother had, over the years, spoken less and less to the point where they now barely acknowledged each other as siblings, even at school. A display of this magnitude from Sirius of what could be called affection – concern, at the very least – seemed outright out of character, and yet Regulus was compelled by the look in his brother’s eye to believe him.

           Turning away from Regulus, Sirius rifled through his belongings, haphazardly strewn about in and around a trunk. When he straightened up, it was with his broom in hand. He chucked it across the room at his brother, who caught it in his hands, holding the thing gingerly.

           Regulus could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t betray the fact that he was oddly, uncomfortably touched, so he just swallowed whatever ugly taunt it was his first brotherly instinct to give and said simply: “I’ll send Ebles along, then.”

           Ebles was Sirius’s Great Horned Owl; much like Sirius, he had been cooped up in Grimmauld Place for some time, and hated it there. “No need,” replied Sirius, with a shrug. “Let him out before I left. He’ll either find his way here or be waiting for me at the Owlery.”

           “I’m sorry,” Regulus blurted out, impulsively. He held onto the broom tightly, knuckles whitening even as his face flushed slightly, although out of anger or embarrassment Sirius wasn’t sure.

           Older brother eyed the younger with a detached sort of resignation. “You don’t have to be,” he said, lowly. “I know you don’t hate them, but I know you understand why I do. So.”

           Still, nothing came to Regulus, no words that could sort this all out. He wanted to be harsh, to tell Sirius that this was all his fault, that he had torn their family apart, but he could not say that because he was not entirely sure, anymore, that it was the truth. “Don’t you wish you were in Slytherin sometimes?” he asked, taking a step towards his brother beseechingly. “Don’t you think things could’ve been so much easier?”

           Without skipping a beat, Sirius shook his head. “Nah. Even if I’d been in Slytherin – and I almost was, mind, never would’ve asked the Hat otherwise if I’d known what trouble it’d make – but even if I were a Slytherin, it’d still be wrong, Regulus.” When his brother did not look convinced, Sirius added, “Remember how much you liked Ted? Why did that change when you found out he was Muggleborn? What does it matter? _Why_ does it matter?”

           It looked like Regulus had no answer for this, but Sirius knew his brother too well to think he’d admit it. Regulus was afraid: afraid that he was wrong, that their parents had lied to him, that his entire House was terrible. And he was not a Gryffindor, unused to the kind of easygoing courage that would allow him to face this.

           But Sirius had always thought it was the man that made the House more than the House made the man, and if he was a Gryffindor then surely his brother had it in him to be brave as well.

           “I’ll talk to Mum and Dad,” said Regulus, finally. “Maybe you can come home for Christmas.”

           “No,” said Sirius. “I can’t.”

           He gave his brother a weak smile, then nodded at the window.

           “Off you go,” he said. “No use milling about. Expecting our mother will die of a broken heart in the meantime is a bit too optimistic, probably.” At Regulus’s expression, he added, “Not because she doesn’t love you, of course not. Only that our mother doesn’t _have_ a heart-”

           Regulus’s expression darkened, and he glared at his brother. Sirius laughed. It was a chuckle at first, a joke to cover up desperate desire to hate his parents, to hate his family, to hate his name. But standing there in the guest bedroom of his best friend’s home, younger brother clutching onto a broomstick as if it were bread and he a starving man, a sudden mirth grasped Sirius. He laughed and laughed, and after a moment or two Regulus’s glare softened slightly, at first with puzzlement; but the glee on his brother’s face was infectious, and then Regulus, too, was laughing, if not quieter, if not against his will.

           “Sirius,” said Regulus, fighting the grin tugging at his lips, “Mum cursed you last night, and you think this is funny somehow?”

           “I’m just happy,” laughed Sirius.

           “Happy? That you’ll be blasted off the family tree?”

           “No,” said Sirius. “Well, yes, maybe.” He pretended to wipe a tear from underneath his eye, and grinned up at his brother. “I’m free, Regulus.”

           Regulus could think of nothing with which to reply to this, so he did not. Eventually he managed, “I’ll see you at school, then.”

           Sirius nodded. “In Myrtle’s bathroom, as usual, lest your little Death Eater friends discover you still speak to your blood traitor brother.”

           Regulus began, “Not all Slytherins-” but Sirius interrupted him by blowing a very loud raspberry. Offended, Regulus opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak there was a knock on the bedroom door.

           “Boys?” called Mrs. Potter. “Breakfast is downstairs, when you’re ready.”

           “Thanks,” replied Sirius, raising his voice to be heard through the door. “We’ll be out in just a moment.”

           Looking at Regulus, he nodded towards the window. Silently, he mouthed, “Go.”

           Regulus went.

—

           Breakfast in the Great Hall the morning after the Start-of-Term Feast was always sparse, as many students sleep in before classes officially start, tired after a night of catching up with their friends. Although the Marauders had rang in their first night as sixth years by jumping straight into making master plans for the coming year, the other boys in their dormitory had shouted them into shutting up come two in the morning, and so they managed to drag themselves out of bed in time for breakfast. All the way to the Great Hall James, a consummate morning person, chattered away excitedly to Peter, who had accidentally fallen asleep earlier than the rest of them. Sirius, a night-owl to his very core, scowled as Remus tugged him along good-naturedly. It was mid-month between full moons, and Remus looked as healthy as he ever did – maybe healthier. When he’d found out Sirius had finally left home, for good, he’d let out a deep sigh that Sirius suspected he had been holding for years. And now he seemed happier somehow, more content, as if that were one less thing he had to worry about.

           They crowded around a plate of kippers and black pudding, James’s preferred breakfast. “Not sure I see Auror in your future, Wormtail,” he said to Peter cheerily. “Think you need better than an Acceptable in Charms. Is that right, Moony?”

           “Probably,” replied Remus, reaching for a slice of toast; he had recently decided to try vegetarianism, in spite of Sirius’s ridicule. “Most Ministry careers require at least an E.”

           “You got all Os, didn’t you Moony?” asked Peter.

           “No, he didn’t,” said Sirius, a small smirk gracing his lips. “Got a T in Divination, didn’t you?”

           “Didn’t get anything for Divination,” Remus replied with a shrug. “Shouldn’t have walked out mid-examination, I suppose.”

           “D’you think you’ll be an Auror?”

           “Wormtail, please,” sighed Sirius, rolling his eyes up towards the clear blue sky visible through the enchanted ceiling. “Moony’s going into Control of Magical Creatures, aren’t you, mate?”

           Remus couldn’t hold back a low smile at Sirius’s teasing. “Actually,” he began, “lately I’ve been thinking a bit about teaching…”

           Just then, a sort of hush seemed to ripple across the four tables, emanating from the opposite end of the Hall. James, facing towards the other tables, leaned over to peer past Sirius, satisfied expression fading into scandalized befuddlement. “Blimey, Sirius,” he murmured. “What’s he doing then?”

           At this, Sirius raised an elegant eyebrow, then turned around in his seat.

           Passing by the Hufflepuff table, doggedly refusing to notice any of the many gazes focused on him, Regulus Black headed straight for his brother. For a moment Sirius only blinked at him in confusion, and then it was too late: Regulus reached the Gryffindor table and, ignoring the gob smacked stares and the ugly scowls from Sirius’s Housemates, he held out a broomstick.

           “Thanks,” he said.

           The entire Gryffindor table, half-filled as it were, gaped down at the Black brothers.

           Remus glanced at Regulus, then at Sirius, who seemed to be going through an entire summer’s worth of emotions in silence. It was only when an uncharacteristic pallor gave way to equally uncharacteristic red-facedness (and James kicked him underneath the table) that Sirius finally reached out to grasp his Nimbus.

           “’Course,” said Sirius, recovering quickly. He shook his hair out of his face slightly, and took the broom. “You know, I’ll be disappointed if you didn’t take the trouble the hex it before you gave it back.”

           “Please,” answered Regulus, the arrogance of his House and family emphasized by his slightly upturned nose. “I don’t need to hex your broom to destroy you on the pitch.”

           “On the pitch?” echoed Remus; both Black boys’s heads swiveled simultaneously to gape at him, a slight sheen of disbelief in their eyes. Remus gave a nervous little smile towards Sirius, as if to say, _See? I’m trying_. “Are you on Slytherin’s Quidditch team this year, Regulus? Let me guess, a Beater like your brother?”

           For a moment Regulus said nothing, staring at the other boy. His struggle was evident behind his eyes: years of upbringing and disgust at the thought of a werewolf speaking to him clashing at once with his newfound respect for Sirius’s judgment.

           Finally, Regulus managed to open his mouth and say, not unkindly, “No.”

           Then he turned on his heel and headed back towards Slytherin’s table, with noticeably more speed than he had approached the Gryffindors.

           Pleased with himself, Remus looked at Sirius pointedly.

           Impressed, Sirius said, “That went well.”

           “Didn’t it?” responded Remus proudly.

           “He’s a Keeper, probably,” added Sirius, turning to peer across the tables. Regulus was hunched over between two other Slytherins, deliberately facing away from his brother.

           “Too skinny for that,” commented Remus mildly. “I’d put ten Galleons on Seeker.”

           “You don’t have ten Galleons, mate.”

           “Ah, but I will as soon as we find out for sure.”

           “Padfoot,” said James.

           Sirius turned around once more to see his best friend staring at him disbelievingly from across a platter of kippers.

           “Are we friends with Slytherins now?” asked James, and Sirius found himself slightly surprised at the genuine rancor in his voice.

           “He’s my brother,” answered Sirius defensively, a tone of defiance that he rarely took with James. Immediately realizing how that might sound sympathetic to Slytherin, he added, “Not my friend.”

           “Relax, Prongs,” said Remus. “Not like we’re only allowed to socialize with other Gryffindors.”

           “But _Slytherin_ -”

           “James, he’s fourteen.” Although Remus’s tone did not sharpen, abandoning their monikers always meant business – it was a practice he’d adopted since being made Prefect the previous year. “Hardly a Death Eater.”

           James did not immediately reply, sensing the injury in Sirius’s silence and the warning in Remus’s words. Then he let out a short sigh and went back to his breakfast, but not before adding darkly, “Yeah, not yet.”

           Neither Black brother glanced around again, but both of them imagined they could feel the other’s gaze on the back of their head.

—

           “-AND BLACK CATCHES THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS!”

           The half of the stadium bedecked in silver and green erupted into cheers, hollering and waving banners. Regulus took a graceful spiral upwards in the center of the pitch, holding the Snitch up proudly in hand. As he was coming back down, Sirius gave him a reluctant grin and called out, “You must’ve been practicing on my broom all summer, some of my talent obviously rubbed off on you, finally-” and Regulus only laughed at him and dived down to join the rest of the Slytherins, still cheering for him.

           Over the din, the other players could hardly hear James Potter as he furiously began to shout. As Sirius descended to join James on the pitch, he at first assumed that James was shouting at Regulus and the Slytherins, but then when Sirius reached out, expecting to have to restrain his friend from barreling into the other team, James sneered at him and flinched away from his touch. It was only then that he started listening to what his best friend was yelling on about, and as he did so the grin slid off his face.

           “-went _easy_ on him, you knocked that Bludger the opposite direction, it almost hit McKinnon, d’you _realize_ you just lost us the effing match because you’re soft for you _stupid_ baby brother-”

           His voice rose even further to a fervid screaming, and Sirius began, “Prongs, mate-” but James only cast a look of pure hatred past him, towards Regulus and the Slytherins.

           “They ought to be disqualified, they should!” James shouted past Sirius. “Bunch of bloody Death Eaters!”

           “ _Prongs!_ ”

           Violently, James pushed Sirius away and stalked towards the Slytherins. “No-good, stuck-up, dirty Death Eater _gits_ -”

           “POTTER!” roared Madame Hooch, storming onto the field. Before she reached them, Sirius threw himself on James, holding him back.

           “Stop it!” shouted Sirius, straight into his friend’s ear. “They’re not Death Eaters, they’re just Quidditch players! James, quit it!”

           James struggled against Sirius’s grip as the Slytherin team grinned and waved, then headed back into the changing rooms, Regulus lifted up on their shoulders. With a shout, James finally broke free of Sirius’s grip and before Sirius could react, a solid fist connected with his nose, and hot blood instantly began to drip.

           For one moment, James and Sirius stared at each other, stunned.

           And then Sirius’s face contorted into a snarl, and he threw himself at his best friend, the both of them ruthlessly beating each other bloody until the rest of the team descended upon them, just barely managing to tear them off of each other.

           When Regulus visited Sirius in the hospital wing, at the end of the day so no one else would see him there, James begrudgingly apologized at, Regulus suspected, Sirius’s insistence.

           Seated beside his brother’s bed, Regulus asked, “What are you apologizing to me for? He’s the one with the broken nose.”

—

           “Who?” asked Sirius, a frown on his pretty brow, standing with his arms tightly crossed in a girl's bathroom on the first floor.

           “Mulciber,” answered Regulus nervously. He was not a small boy for fifteen years old, but Sirius had hit a growth spurt in the past year, and loomed over him as a tall and somewhat intimidating seventh year. “Avery, and both the Carrows, and Rabastan-”

           “Snape?”

           “Severus?” Regulus shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

           A pale, semi-transparent head popped through the wall and a high, drippy voice asked, “Slytherins and Gryffindors conspiring in the bathroom! What are you up to, I wonder? Should I alert a teacher to this-”

           “Bugger off, Myrtle,” Sirius shot at her, then he asked his brother again, “Are you _sure_ Snape wasn’t one of them?”

           “I don’t think so,” answered Regulus. “Sirius, I’m not sure, they just – I didn’t know – I mean, we’re still _students_ , how could they-”

           With a wise, older brother kind of sigh, Sirius reached out to take his brother’s shoulder. “Alright,” he said. “Come with me.”

           Fear rose in Regulus’s gut: what with the invitation which had just been extended to him, the thought of being spotted with a Gryffindor, especially a blood traitor like his own brother, frightened him. “Please,” he pleaded. “Please don’t…” But, fearlessly, Sirius steered him out of the bathroom and up a set of stairs without a word. “Where are we going?” asked Regulus feebly.

           “Not past the Slytherin common room,” answered Sirius. “Don’t worry.”

           “If they see you with me-”

           “Don’t worry,” repeated Sirius. “I’ll protect you.”

           “I’m not worried about _me_.”

           Sirius grit his teeth, but said nothing. The look in Sirius’s eye was as steely as Regulus had ever seen it. Sensing the heavy hand on his shoulder was more for Sirius’s sake than his own, Regulus said nothing more, only allowed himself to be guided to an office he knew, but into which he had never actually been.

           After a single knock, Sirius simply barreled into the room. Professor McGonagall sat at her desk looking mildly surprised at the intrusion, but the surprise disappeared when she saw Sirius; in his first few years at Hogwarts Sirius had found himself in her office often as the world as he knew it, according to his family, crumbled to pieces and he struggled to rebuild it with the help of his friends. It had been a tumultuous time for him, a struggle that had resulted in more than a few outbursts, and Professor McGonagall’s office had itself transfigured, for him, into a safe haven of sorts. She was very used to seeing him there, even unannounced.

           She was not, however, used to seeing him with his younger brother in tow.

           “Black,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Is everything all right?”

           “Professor,” answered Sirius, closing the door behind them, then guiding his brother to the seat before McGonagall’s desk. “Regulus has something important to tell you,” he continued, “but before we begin, he needs a biscuit.”

           Professor McGonagall blinked at him for one moment, then nodded matter-of-factly and passed a tin across the desk. She knew exactly what that meant.

           Sirius picked one out for his brother, a caramel digestive, his favorite. Regulus took it, but the expression of slight fear on his face did not subside.

           Kindly, Professor McGonagall leaned forward.

           “Now, Black,” she said. A familiar refrain, although one usually reserved for the elder brother. “What’s the matter?”

—

           “Albus,” hissed Minerva McGonagall, in the headmaster’s office, out of which Regulus Black had only just left, “we cannot ask this of him. He’s just a boy, it’s far too dangerous-”

           With just a trace of a twinkle in his eye, Albus Dumbledore peered at McGonagall from above his half-moon spectacles and asked, “When have you ever known the Black boys to run from danger?” When she pursed her lips, unconvinced, he continued, “There may never be another chance.”

           “He’s underage-”

           “He can help us. Entering into Voldemort’s inner circle, we may have the opportunity to penetrate his deepest secrets. Regulus could very well be the key to ending this war. He is, like his brother,” said Dumbledore, over McGonagall’s protests, “both cunning and brave. Minerva,” he said, “I believe in Regulus Black.”

—

           In a square somewhere in London, a loud _crack_ broke the nighttime silence, and a tall, haughty young man barreled up to a door and immediately banged against it, hard and loud. “Come on, you old buzzards!” he shouted into the night. “I know you’re in there! Open up!”

           Before he could slam against the door once more, it opened suddenly. At first Sirius thought it had opened of its own accord, but then he looked down and saw the ugly, stunted form of Kreacher the House Elf. “Master Sirius,” he croaked. “Master Sirius has returned, oh, Mistress will not be happy about this…”

           “Out of my way, elf,” said Sirius, sweeping Kreacher aside to stride into the house. It was only a moment before a man like an older, thicker version of Sirius himself appeared in the hall, eyes wide and already bulging with fury; Sirius had no time for interruptions tonight, so before his father could move he called, “ _Stupefy_!” and the old man toppled over, unconscious.

           After her husband, the screeching harpy of Sirius’s mother appeared, baring her teeth. “YOU!” she shrieked. “HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU ENTER THIS HOUSE – BLOOD TRAITOR FILTH, SHAME OF MY FLESH!”

           “Oh, shut _up_ ,” he shouted at her, deflecting a wordless curse. “I’m not here for you, Mother, but please do provoke me, then you’ll see how much of a traitor to my own blood I can actually be-”

           Sounds of someone coming down the stairs, and Sirius whipped around to face his brother, hovering beside an old beheaded House Elf. “Sirius?” asked Regulus, and his expression did not flicker at all, he didn’t even so much as glance at their mother, maintaining the charade that the two brothers had not spoken in years. “What are you doing-?”

           “OUT!” howled Walburgha Black. “OUT, OUT, OUT OF MY HOME, YOU MUGGLE-LOVING SHAME – HOW DARE-” she cut herself off and wound herself up, slashing her wand like a knife and opening her mouth to call, “ _Avada_ -”

           Simultaneously, both Sirius and Regulus raised their wands and said, “ _Stupefy!_ ” and the woman was thrown across the room, unconscious.

           Regulus came down the rest of the stairs and, ignoring Sirius, went straight to their mother. Kneeling beside her, he scowled up at Sirius and demanded, “What were you thinking? Two Stunning curses on a woman her age, that could've killed her-”

           “Didn’t stop you.”

           “I’m the son who’s _meant_ to be here!” continued Regulus shrilly. “What are you _doing_ here! What if someone saw you, what if – I can’t even be speaking to you, Sirius, you’re endangering everything right now-”

           “I know you’re a Death Eater,” said Sirius stonily, fist clenched tightly around his wand.

           Regulus looked up at him. He got to his feet. “Sirius-”

           “I know why,” he continued, before Regulus could say anything. “I understand the need for someone like you but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. It’s humiliating. Shameful. The fact that people think – my very own _brother_ -”

           “Oh, come off it,” sighed Regulus, rolling his eyes. He nudged their mother with his toe. “You’re beginning to sound like her.”

           “I will suffer through it,” growled Sirius, and it was an actual _growl_ , deep and canine in the back of his throat. “I will grit my teeth and pretend to hate you because I know that you are a good man and that’s what matters, at the end of it all.” He paused; caught his breath. “But you are barely seventeen, Regulus, surely Voldemort can spare _children_ -”

           “The Dark Lord,” interrupted Regulus, loudly, “spares no one, Sirius.”

           “You haven’t even finished _school_ -”

           “What’s the point?” demanded Regulus. “What do my N.E.W.T.s matter if he wins? What can exams teach me about being a loyal Death Eater? It doesn’t matter to him, to any of them.”

           “You need schooling,” said Sirius stubbornly. “You need – what about Defense Against-”

           Lowly, Regulus said, “I’ve been taught the Dark Arts by the Dark Lord himself. Believe me, Sirius, nothing they teach at Hogwarts can protect you. I would know.”

           In the dark front hallway of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black said nothing. The ceiling was low and claustrophobic, but the physical space did not frustrate him so much as the psychological torment, the ugly memories, the family who spat him out, the fear of being trapped here once more.

           “I want you out,” said Sirius.

           “No,” replied Regulus.

           “It’s too dangerous. I won’t have you killed on my account-”

           Certain he had misheard, Regulus asked, “ _Your_ account? You think I did this for you?”

           “Why the hell else-?”

           “Because they’re wrong,” said Regulus.

           Jaw clenched, Sirius only watched his younger brother.

           “You-Know-Who is wrong,” said the boy, “and he’s evil. And someone should stand up to him.”

           “There’s an entire Order, in case you hadn’t-”

           “I mean one of us. A Slytherin.”

           Sirius shook his head, but he had to look away from Regulus to keep himself from shouting. He took a few deep breaths in between his teeth, and the fight slowly eked away from him.

           “James,” said Sirius, and Regulus was relieved at even the slightest change of subject, “says he thinks you’re really a Gryffindor. Wanted me to ask you if you told the Hat where to Sort you. Sounds like something you would’ve done, ‘specially after you saw what happened to me.”

           Regulus considered this question for a moment, then gave a very short, but very confident, shake of his head. “No,” he said truthfully. “I’m a Slytherin. And by that logic, you are too.”

           He expected this to shake his brother, but it did not. From the look on Sirius’s face, the thought had occurred to him before.

           “Go home,” said Regulus, kneeling once more beside their mother. “Tell James and Lily congratulations from me. It was kind of them to invite me to the wedding, I would’ve liked to come.” He felt gently for a pulse on his mother’s wrist, then added, “Oh, and why did I hear that Remus Lupin is out of hiding?”

           “Because,” answered Sirius, “he can be more stubborn than I am, when he wants to be. Doesn’t believe he’s in any danger.”

           “Fenrir Greyback is becoming less and less predictable. He’s been going after his old vendettas lately – just pass that along to Remus, won’t you?”

           “Regulus,” began Sirius, beseechingly. “I don’t want-”

           “What you want doesn’t matter anymore,” answered Regulus mildly. “I told you, I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it because it’s the right thing. Because someone has to. And you, by the way, are not making it any easier on me – do you know, if anyone saw you, do you know how much danger the both of us would be in?”

           Regulus left the question unanswered.

           Then Sirius said: “You’re right.” He put away his wand, then held out his arms. “Go on, then.”

           Regulus raised an eyebrow at his brother. “What are you doing?”

           “Has to look like there was a struggle, doesn’t it? You’ve seventeen years’ worth of pent-up younger-brother bitterness at me, surely you can muster up enough strength for a punch or two.”

           “Sirius-”

           “And, naturally,” continued the older man, silencing his brother’s protests, “I will also have to get in a few good ones myself. Just so long as it’s realistic.”

           Uncertain that he was understanding his brother correctly, Regulus asked, “You want me to hit you?”

           “No,” answered Sirius. “I want us to hit each other. It’s all a team effort, surely the Order’s taught you that by now.”

           “Sirius,” sighed Regulus, abandoning their mother’s side. “I doubt the Dark Lord would expect me to fight you with my fists.”

           “Maybe that’s not how a Death Eater fights – but you’re my brother before you are a Death Eater, remember,” said Sirius, a gleam in his eye. “Never forget that, Regulus.”

           The younger man watched his brother, lips a tight line.

           “I won’t,” he said. “Never.”

—

           “Regulus!” cried James jovially, reaching out to sweep the young man into his arms. “Excellent! Didn’t think you’d make it, mate!”

           Perhaps James was already slightly too drunk to take notice of how thin Regulus looked, how pale, what deep shadows hung beneath his eyes. Certainly the rest of them did. “Glad I could come,” he responded to James, and to all of them in the living room of the Potter home. “Just realized I’d never met my god-nephew, and that won’t do at all.”

           “Is that how it works?” Sirius asked Lily, only half in jest. “God-nephew and all? If you die, and James dies, and I die, does that mean Regulus gets Harry?”

           “Oh, that’s too morbid, Padfoot,” sighed Lily. James brought Regulus in towards her, and she held the baby in her arms, smiling at the gentleness blossoming on Regulus’s face. “This is Harry,” she said. “Would you like to hold him?”

           Graciously, he declined. “Are you feeling all right, Regulus?” asked Remus mildly. “You don’t look well.”

           “Fine, thank you,” he answered, although they could all see that this was untrue. “Bit worn down. Took three days straight to track down the Prewetts, and they-”

           He broke off. Members of the Order of the Phoenix as the others were, they all knew what had happened to Gideon and Fabian Prewett.

           “Anyway,” said Regulus, restarting. “I can’t stay long. I just – I came to talk to Sirius, actually. Mind if I borrow him for a moment?”

           “Not at all,” answered Lily, and Sirius met his brother’s gaze, then retreated with him into the kitchen, away from the others.

           Sirius shut the door behind them. There was silence.

           “Every time I see you,” said Sirius, but his voice was flat and emotionless, “you accidentally remind me of the innocent lives you’ve taken.”

           Regulus didn’t answer this. It was not a condemnation, but there was nothing he could say to defend himself.

           Bluntly, Regulus said, “You can’t be their Secret-Keeper anymore.”

           Sirius stared at his brother. “What?”

           “You can’t be the James and Lily’s Secret-Keeper. It has to be someone else.”

           “Why-?”

           “Because you’re my brother,” answered Regulus, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If – _when_ they use me to get to you, I don’t want to be able to tell them something that could get the Potters killed. I’ve been responsible for enough death already. Don’t make me responsible for any more.”

           “I would _never_ -”

           “I know you wouldn’t,” said Regulus. His eyes were dry and wide, and exhausted. “They will kill you, Sirius.”

           “So I’ll die,” responded Sirius aggressively. “I’m not afraid of dying, not for the right cause. Not to protect my friends.”

           Regulus said nothing, lips drawn tight, watching his brother’s unyielding obstinacy. “Please,” he said quietly. “I’m terrified for you. All of you. Every day. You do realize they’re-”

           He broke off. He had to tear his gaze away from Sirius, jaw clenched. Sirius saw his brother’s hands were shaking.

           “One day they’re going to make me kill you,” he whispered.

           Sirius hesitated, then took a step forward. “Regulus…”

           “I won’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to let that happen, Sirius.”

           “I know. Of course I know that.”

           There was nothing between them for a while.

           Regulus said, “I didn’t come tonight to meet your godson.”

           “I didn’t think so.”

           “I wanted to say thank you,” said Regulus plainly. “For everything you’ve ever done for me. For Confunding me back when I was sixteen, then for lending me your broom to get back home. Even though I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve stayed with you.”

           “Too late now,” remarked Sirius.

           Slowly, Regulus nodded. “Too late now,” he repeated.

           A silence.

           “And you’ve come to say goodbye,” said Sirius.

           Regulus didn’t look at him. He nodded.

           Sirius too had to look away, at the hob or the window or the wall, anywhere but his brother’s face. “Don’t tell me why,” he said, containing the throaty wetness of his voice, the pain he kept trapped somewhere in his chest. “Let me think it’s because you’ve done something terribly heroic, and the Dark Lord won’t stand for heroism.”

           “I would like to think that, too,” admitted Regulus.

           “When he comes for you,” Sirius coughed, cleared his throat to disguise something that would have betrayed an emotion he did not want to face. “When he comes for you, don’t go down without a fight.”

           “Yes,” said Regulus. “He won’t,” he said, “but yes.”

           From the other room, the sound of laughter slipped underneath the door. “Hopefully Mum’ll have you blasted off the family tree too, for this.”

           “Always the optimist.”

           Haltingly, Sirius said, “It’s nice, once you’re off that thing.” He stopped abruptly. He glanced at Regulus’s face, and their dark eyes met. “Freer.”

           This hung in the air between them, and then Regulus dipped his head in the gentlest nod. “Freedom,” he said softly. “I like the sound of that.”

           Sirius moved first, gathering his brother in his arms, feeling the brittleness of his bones and the coldness of his skin. Regulus, Sirius suspected, had been dying for some time now: good men cannot live as Death Eaters for long. It tears them up inside, poisons them. The day the Dark Lord gouged his mark onto the skin of Regulus’s forearm, it was already over.

           “Sirius,” said Regulus.

           “Yeah?”

           “Kill him for me. You’ll have your chance soon. He’ll be weak. Kill him.”

           “I swear to you,” said Sirius, holding his brother, “I will.”

—

_I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more._

_-R.A.B._


End file.
